


The Inevitability of Failure

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Interpol
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-06
Updated: 2007-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We never took each other anywhere but down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inevitability of Failure

_"Where's Carl?" - "Tell him to stay the fuck away from me."_

 

1.

The girl he's going to fuck tonight, her name's Carlene. Carlos knows this because the last one's name was Darlene, whose name he remembers because she insisted that she pronounce it _dah_ling, and he figured he'd take this one because it's just one letter backward, and there was a time when he used to remember names and faces without having to resort to word association, but that time's long gone by now.

Carlene has an overbite, but pretty dark hair and nice tits, and she only ever talks when he asks her a direct question, which is a nice change of pace and it means they never have to speak. She likes being on top, which again, is a nice change of pace and it means he doesn't have to do much work to get off.

"It's just that it's wearying, to have to look upon the same faces day in and day out, and never be entirely certain when it will end," and Darlene, or Carlene, is possibly not even listening to him, which is the way he prefers it. "I get. Bored."

"Sure," Darlene says, and pauses. "Wanna fuck some more?"

"Okay."

 

2.

Sam says, "Cutting it close, my friend."

"Yeah, sorry," Carlos replies, really not, but it's moot anyway because Sam's already turned away from him, he's not _too_ late, and that's what matters. Paul just walks off, and Carlos can't tell what he's thinking, but then he decides he doesn't care.

"Weren't you uh - Paul said you guys were supposed to meet, at the afterparty, I was there, but you." Daniel looks flustered, like he always does when he attempts to play mediator, which isn't that often, but it's Carlos's lucky day today apparently.

"I forgot. You know how it goes."

"Um, sure," Daniel says. "Sure."

Paul doesn't speak to him for the next two days, and Carlos, again, can't bring himself to care.

 

3.

Paul called him one day and said, "Some shit went down. I'm moving to Jersey City. I'll give you my new address," and of course Carlos realized later Paul had moved there a month earlier, and he hadn't noticed because he hadn't bothered calling either, and Carlos wanted to tell himself that the drift apart was inexorable, that they grew up and re-prioritized separately, rather than Paul having _shit go down_ and Carlos following suit like a hopelessly lost trekker going down the first path that seemed promising, but he wasn't that self-delusional.

Or perhaps he was. Or perhaps it didn't matter how the fuck he'd ended up here, just that he had. Shedding skin and growing an entirely new one altogether, the re-imagined life worth living, mostly alone.

 

4.

And some things change.

And some things kind of don't, not really.

 

5.

In a crowded VIP room, and he hasn't been to one of these in a while, and he's starting to remember why. Five minutes and he's about ready to leave, but he spots Paul with a girl at the bar. His hand on her arm and he's whispering in her ear, making her laugh. Carlos edges himself as close as he can and stares until Paul looks up. He raises an eyebrow, and Paul's lips flatten in annoyance, but then he shrugs, almost imperceptibly. Bathroom first, then out through the back door. Paul's already there, hands in his coat pockets and already starting to shiver. "Nice of you to show up," he says.

"How the fuck are you cold," Carlos mutters, but it's a rhetorical question, like it always is. Same old, same old. It's always startling how easy it is to fall back into old habits, especially when it comes to Paul. Especially on nights like this, which is most nights on the road. He starts fumbling with the buttons of Paul's coat, "How do you get this off," because perhaps he's a little more drunk than he should be and buttons are hard sometimes, especially when it's dark.

"Just push it up or whatever," Paul says, and shrugs.

Carlos stares at him and then shoves him to the wall. He stumbles briefly but then steadies himself, eyes Carlos balefully. "Unbutton your fucking coat," Carlos says, and Paul laughs, but eventually he gets around to it, fumbling only marginally less than Carlos did. Carlos leans in, drags his teeth along Paul's neck to bite down on the hollow between his jaw and his throat and whisper harshly, " If you were a girl, Banks, I'd fuck you right here and right now," and Paul laughs again, low and unimpressed.

"If I were a girl, _Dengler_, neither one of us would even be here."

They settle for handjobs instead, Carlos pressing up against Paul's thin frame as they both shudder and pant.

Afterwards, Paul half-heartedly readjusts his clothes to an only marginally less rumpled state and Carlos refrains from fussing over him because that never works out well. Instead he concentrates on putting himself back together again, tugging and smoothing while Paul lights a cigarette and watches him lazily, eyes half-lidded and as always, amused.

This is a ritual, by now, and Carlos is in a good enough post-fuck mood that he doesn't even bother snapping churlishly when Paul says, "You missed a spot there, Carl," and brushes what Carlos is sure is imaginary lint off his shoulder. He takes the cigarette from Paul instead and takes a deep drag, blows smoke into his face.

"Where's Helena," he asks.

"With Josh, probably."

"Huh."

"She's not your type."

"How do you -"

"You're not _her_ type."

"Ass," Carlos says distractedly. He could, in fact, give a fuck about Helena.

But he's bored now, in any case, so he passes Paul back his cig and says, "I have to go."

"See you in the next city."

"Sure."

 

6.

The only time he saw Paul alone before they went back into the studio he showed up at Carlos's apartment with a bottle of wine and minus twenty pounds. For just about the only time, Carlos wished that he'd gotten a bigger dog that could sic and tear asunder.

"Hey, Carl," as Carlos took the bottle from him and went to the kitchen to bring out the wine glasses. He could see Paul only peripherally, bending down to scratch Gaius behind the ears, and by the time Carlos handed Paul a glass both him and the dog were draped over the couch as if they owned it. At least one of them could usually lay claim to it, but Carlos wasn't in the mood, not today.

"Did you manage to work your _shit_ out." The wine was expensive, Carlos let it roll around in his mouth for a while to keep from spitting out something more vicious.

Paul grimaced. "You're such an asshole."

"So I'm told. Did you want anything else or did you come all the way especially just to insult me? Is this part of rehab? What number am I on your list?"

"I'm glad to see the break has improved your personality so vastly. I missed your stellar wit so. Want a blowjob?"

"Not in front of the dog. But otherwise, yes."

 

7.

Carlos is going to leave, with the girl with the lovely lips and dyed-black hair and whose name he only remembers when he sees her. But Paul nods his head from across the hotel lobby, and he'll have to remember her name later. For now he's following the flash of blonde hair up, passing by Sam who looks vaguely irritated, even though they've been doing this for years and he'd never seemed to care.

Paul's splayed out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in apparent fascination. Carlos looks up too, but there's nothing but the pale shade of beige that he's come to loathe. He puts his knee on the bed instead, tugs on Paul's belt and zipper. "Carlos," Paul says dreamily, and Carlos shakes his head. "Talk later. I'm on a schedule." He takes Paul into his mouth, he's already half-hard and his hips jerk, just the way Carlos knew they would, when he brushes his had along the inside of his thigh. When he starts touching Carlos's hair, feather light, and makes little choking noises at the back of his throat, Carlos looks up, because he always likes watching Paul's face when he comes.

They used to drape themselves across the couch in the lounge, back then, and idly discuss whether Daniel did or did not look exactly like he did onstage when he came, and if Daniel was around they'd get an "I know you're talking about me" look before he scurried out looking for a pub to get wasted in.

But Carlos is pretty sure he's never seen Paul give this particular look in any moment but this. Paul moans and closes his eyes, and allows his face to go slack. Carlos swallows tonight, because he wants something back.

He crawls up Paul's body and starts tugging at him. "Turn around, come on," but Paul's surprisingly strong and surprisingly lucid, and he pushes Carlos unceremoniously until he's flat on the bed, staring up at the same fucking ceiling, and this was so much easier in general when they were both far more wasted than they are tonight.

"Schedule, remember."

"The least you could do is - aah. That, yeah." Paul always had a sweet mouth, hot and slick and it's not long before Carlos is shuddering, burying his fingers into Paul's hair to hold him there because he's not a gentleman and it's not like Paul has his voice to worry about or anything, but at this point Carlos doesn't care about much except for his impending orgasm. He barely notices when Paul manages to draw back, until there's a face hovering above his, lips pressed tight together. A hand on his jaw, strong fingers and he opens his mouth instinctively, swallows instinctively when Paul moves closer and drops his head.

He thinks he kisses Paul, mostly, instinctively too. And also because he's annoyed. But in any case they're kissing, all lips and teeth and tongue and barely any skill involved, and when they pull apart they're both gasping for air and somehow Paul's face is cradled in his hands and Paul's fists are bunched in his shirt. Carlos sighs and lets his head fall back down onto the pillow. "Fuck," he says. "I just wanted to fuck you."

"Yeah, I know." And he's gone. Carlos hears the water running from the bathroom and decides he should probably leave.

 

8.

At Christmas, Paul sent him a postcard for no discernable reason whatsoever, of a half-naked Santa with an elf doing naughty things in his lap.

_Merry Christmas, Carl.  
Mine went much like this.  
How about yours?  
Wish you were here._

In his lazy scrawl, and Carlos was certain they weren't the type of people that called one another anymore, so he sent him a generic belated e-card in response.

Paul didn't reply, but when Carlos saw him a while afterwards he said casually, "Thanks for the card. It was super."

"Fuck you."

"Later, perhaps." Paul replied, but then Helena draped herself over him, and Carlos let himself get tugged away by someone insisting that they get a look at Gaius, and that was that.

 

9.

"I just feel so -"

"Bored?" Supplies the girl he's going to fuck tonight, who has the fixed expression on her face that says "I adore you because of the myth of who I think you are but I'm not quite sure what you're going on about so I'll just sit here and smile gamely and hope that you'll fuck me at some point". Or something. Perhaps she just thinks he's a jerk, which isn't that far from the truth to be fair. Janine, is her name, he recalls suddenly.

"Fucked," he tells her, and stubs his cigarette out. "That's the word I was looking for."


End file.
